Scars
by highland-daughter
Summary: Not all wounds are easily seen. Some are hidden deep. Leaving unhealed scars. Even the Avengers have such scars. And some times those scars surface as raw, bleeding wounds. But, unlike most things, they have no idea how to deal with these scars.
1. Tony

_**Disclaimer:** All rights belong to Marvel. I own nothing and no profit is being made._

_**Rating:** T_

_**Warning:** Contains angst._

_**Author:**__ I wasn't overly sure of the rating so I ranked it _'T'_ just to be on the safe side. Enjoy and don't forget to review.  
__**EDIT!:**__ Originally this was just a one-shot involving Tony. But people kept asking for more and despite all attempts I couldn't figure out how to write more for Tony, even though there is plenty of good angsty material I could use. So instead I decided that each chapter would focus around a different Avenger and the scars they have._

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Tony**_

"Yinsen!"

Tony sat straight up in bed, his scream still ringing in his ears, eyes wide and sweat running down his body in cold little rivers. His gaze traveled the room, for a moment his mind forgot he was no longer in the desert cave, forgot for a moment that he was safe and in New York. In the newly outfitted and renovated Avengers Tower.

When he was calm enough to remember those things, a chill ran through his entire body.

He scrubbed his hands over his face even as he drew his legs up, knees touching his chest, the heat from his arc reactor sending small pulses through his skin. It did little to remove the chill the memories brought forth. The twist in his gut was like a knife being twisted. It had been so long since he'd had that nightmare, so long since he'd felt this particular tremor of fear, that it was even worse than it had been all those years ago.

He buried his face into his knees as he wrapped his arms around his legs.

His body shook as he fought off the feeling of helplessness. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse he remembered something Steve had said just a few short weeks ago.

"_You're not the guy to lie down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you."_

The Captain had no idea how deeply that barb had dug.

How fierce the hurt had been.

He'd hid it well. Like he always did. Hid behind a wall of indifference and sarcasm.

But the truth was Steve's jab had ripped open old scars that had never fully healed. Scars Tony wasn't ready to face. Scars he would probably never be ready to face.

He had been trying so hard, for so long, to make up for his past.

To protect the people he had helped to put in harm's way.

But a lot of people didn't see it that way.

They saw a man trying to keep himself in the spotlight.

He lifted his head slowly, realizing he was crying, and tried to draw a breath pass the growing lump in his throat. Tears rolled silently down his face and he didn't bother to wipe them away. He stared straight ahead and tried to push his feelings back into the little box he usually kept them locked up in.

He had just managed to push the unwanted feelings down when he remembered Yinsen's last words.

"_Don't waste your life."_

He drew a ragged breath and reached up to finally wipe away his tears.

Those words, the words of man who'd saved his life and had died to save it again, had pushed him towards becoming a better man. Had given him the push to protect, to save, when before he didn't care about anyone but himself.

He'd never told a soul about Yinsen, not even Pepper, but in that moment he wanted to tell someone. He wanted to open up to someone about a time he rarely even allowed himself to think about. He just didn't know how or where to start. How did he tell someone about a man who'd died for him? How did he explain about a man who had died just so he could be with his family again?

When Yinsen had died Tony had sworn never to let anyone that close again. Not even Pepper or Rhodey. And yet they had worked their way right back under his skin, into his heart, and now he had more people doing the same. He didn't want to risk letting them close only to watch as they died. And he certainly didn't want to run the risk of them dying just to save him.

Tears filled his eyes again and his head bowed as pain and guilt gripped him tightly.

He knew he couldn't push his fellow Avengers away. He needed them as much as they needed him.

He just didn't know how to let go of his fears.

"I'm sorry, Yinsen," he whispered as the tears dripped from his face. "I'm trying…trying not to waste my life…I'm trying to live…for both of us…I just don't…don't know how."

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Author:** The second part is coming soon._


	2. Steve

_**Author:** Here's the next part, guys. Originally Steve's scars were going to be examined later but the plot bunnies demanded so here it is. Enjoy and don't forget to review._

_**oOoOoOo**_

Steve

It was late.

Far too late to be up and in the gymnasium that Stark had built for the Avengers to use within the tower.

But Steve was there regardless.

Normally his workout consisted of knocking a few punching bags around but after the second bag had gone flying halfway across the room it was like all the strength had drained out of him. He couldn't find the will to hook up another bag. Couldn't find the strength to even lift his arms to try. So instead he just sat on the mat, a manila folder open by his left knee, photographs strewn about the floor in front of him. Pictures of people he had once known. Had once considered his closest friends.

Each one of them was gone.

Died years ago.

Most from old age and one from an accident.

Steve stared down at the faces, the frozen moments of history, and wished, not for the first time since waking from the ice, that he could get drunk. This sort of situation seemed like the kind when a man was supposed to become intoxicated enough that the memories wouldn't haunt him. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. His gaze flickered from one photograph to the next.

Gabe Jones. One of the few men from New York City that Steve had met who could speak French and German. Gabe had died at the age of seventy-eight. A great-grandfather at the time of his passing.

Jacques Dernier. A former French resistance fighter Steve had freed from that first HYRDA base, Jacques had died at the age of fifty in a car accident. He'd never married nor had children.

Timothy Dugan, known as Dum Dum to his friends. Dum Dum had passed away in Boston when he was eighty. He was survived by his wife and four children and a large number of grandchildren.

James Montgomery Falsworth. The only Brit on the team. Falsworth had passed away in London when he was sixty-eight due to heart failure.

Jim Morita. Jim had passed just two years ago from cancer. He'd been seventy-two and had left behind his wife and two grown children.

As his gaze slid to the final photograph he felt tears spring to his eyes.

Peggy Carter. The strongest woman he had ever known. And the only living member of the old team. He knew that because he'd gone one Saturday to the building that was, amazingly, still the Stork Club. Stepping in to the dimly lit club and had been greeted by the greatest shock of all since waking from the ice. Peggy had recognized him instantly and despite everything it had felt like no time had passed at all. It was the end of the war and they were meeting for their date.

Steve had danced with Peggy that evening, there in the Stork Club, not caring about the numerous eyes watching or the hushed whispers. He'd danced with the woman he loved and she had smiled at him.

Two days later he'd gotten the news that Peggy had passed away in her sleep.

The tears rolled down his face then and a soft, pain filled sound, tore from his chest. Gone. All of them. His friends. The woman he loved. They were all gone and he'd never felt so alone. He may have made new friends but he still felt alone. None of his new friends understood what it was like to fall asleep in one time and wake up in another. None of them knew what it was like to have to completely adapt to a world you didn't fully understand. They didn't know what it was like to learn everyone you ever knew or cared about was dead.

A sob fell from Steve's lips and he buried his face in his hands.

He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest over and over again.

He was confused. He was frightened. And God in Heaven he felt guilty. He felt like he had the day he'd watched Bucky plummet from that train. So damn guilty that he was still alive when other men, better men, were dead and gone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one and yet to everyone he felt that he had failed. "I'm so…so sorry…"

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Author:** And that's that for this chapter. The next one is coming soon._


	3. Bruce

_**Author:** So here's the next part guys, sorry for the delay in updates, been kind of busy with real life and stuff for a while. Hoping to have a little down time now so that I can actually manage to write out even the basic plot of the last few chapters of this story. For now though, I hope you enjoy this update and don't forget to review._

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Bruce**_

On the surface Bruce Banner appeared to be a normal, average man.

Even those who knew about…the Other Guy…thought he didn't look any different than any other man who might walk down the street. But there were things, little micro-expressions usually only picked up by a certain red-haired assassin, which gave away the pain and suffering hidden deep with the darkest corners of Bruce's mind.

Tonight it seemed the memories behind that pain and suffering were going to be a handful.

The dreams, the nightmares, had forced Bruce from his bed, from his bedroom even, and into one of the many R&D labs. JARVIS had stopped asking an hour ago if he needed anything and though Bruce was thankful for the silence part of him missed the AI's voice occasionally breaking up the silence. Now his thoughts were started to jumble and cold his mind when he needed it clear and focused.

He was bent over a microscope he was blindly checking DNA samples. All in a hopes of finding a cure. A way to permanently rid himself the Other Guy. His hand shook as he reached for a pair of tweezers, intending to move the little glass slide, only to have to stop because his twitching fingers made it nearly impossible to complete the task.

Drawing a deep breath to calm himself, he set the tweezers down again and stepped back, blindly finding his way to a chair before collapsing into it. All while his mind's eye conjured up memories, images, of things he was responsible for. Hurting Betty. Nearly killing, and actually killing, countless people before gaining some small measure of control. A face suddenly rose from the corner of his mind. The face of a man he'd broken, not once, but twice.

Emil Blonsky.

The British soldier who General Ross had tried to turn into a super soldier.

The would-be-super-soldier who, by his own choice, had contaminated himself with Bruce's blood and become the Abomination.

A creature Bruce had unleashed the Other Guy…the Hulk…upon. All in order to save thousands of innocent people.

While he knew that Blonsky had made his own choices, had willingly submitted to both the super soldier serum and the blood injection, he still felt responsible for what had happened to the man. If he'd only listened all those years ago when Betty begged him to be careful. If he'd listened to the other scientists, telling him that gamma radiation was too unstable, too dangerous, to be experimented with. Hell, if he had listened to Howard Stark and left the damn super soldier serum and theories alone, then Blonsky wouldn't be sitting in a cage, hidden from the world because he too had become a monster.

A monster that Bruce's own actions, no matter how justified they could be declared, had had a massive hand in creating.

But he'd let his own pride and desire for greatness blind him.

He'd let General Ross convince him that what he was doing would benefit not just soldiers but citizens as well. That if he could create super soldiers then he could find a way to create super crops so that would feed a country for a year or more.

Bruce opened his eyes as the image of Blonsky in his head began to slowly morph into that of the Abomination. He wasn't able to handle seeing Blonsky become that monster. His doing. His fault.

Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if there was a way to reverse what had been to Blonsky. If he ever discovered a cure for the gamma radiation there was no guarantee that it would even work on the soldier due to the infusion of super soldier serum. There was no telling what mutations could have been done during the fusion of the serum and gamma radiation. And that caused a fresh wave of guilt to wash through Bruce. There was no guarantee that he could fix Blonsky. No certainty that he could atone for that particular sin.

He felt like his life was in tatters. He felt frayed at the seams and had no idea how he was going to fix it. No idea how fix the things that were broken. Things he himself had broken.

Rubbing a hand over his face he stood and forced himself back to the counter, back to the microscope. He had to keep doing this. He had to figure this out. There was no other option.

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Author:** And that's it for Bruce._


	4. Natasha

_**Author:** I'm happy to present to you, my fellow readers, the next chapter of this story. This one was, as of yet, the easiest to write. I'm not sure why that was but I'm not complaining. Well, enough yammering, on with the story!_

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Natasha**_

The only light in the room came from the lamp on the bedside table and despite the soft meditation song playing on the little stereo in the corner Natasha found herself unable to clear her mind as she remained seated on the floor, legs folded beneath her and hands resting lightly on her knees. She had been trying for an the better part of an hour to clear settle herself and found it to be increasingly difficult.

Ever since that day on the Helicarrier, the day she'd spoken with Loki, she'd found herself growing more and more restless, her thoughts continuously turning to her past. To the things tainting her ledger. The red that was dripping from its pages.

Loki's words surged to the forefront of her mind.

"_Your ledger is dripping. It's gushing red and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?"_

She pretended not to notice the slight shudder that rolled up her spine. The fear lingering at the back of her mind. Loki had said that Clint had told him every thing about her and she knew from the look in the man's eyes that he wasn't lying. He knew about her because the one person she'd trusted had handed over all her secrets. But she didn't blame Clint. She knew under normal circumstance he would die before telling anyone her secrets. But there hadn't been any normal circumstance in this situation. It had been myths and magic and nothing they were ever trained for.

But even knowing that a small part of her, a part she rarely acknowledged, cringed in fear at someone like Loki knowing her darkest secrets. She could still remember how calmly he'd mentioned Sao Paulo. The hospital fire. All things he could easily use against her. Things that could easily turn her fellow Avengers against her. She was thankful no one was present to see her flinch as she remembered things long since buried in her mind.

_Fire, dancing and licking up the walls like a living, breathing monster, slowly closed in on her. Her body, small even for a child, pressed closer to the corner and she sobbed for her mother. A mother who lay on the bed just a few feet away. A mother who could not hear her cries. A mother who did not stir not even as the flames engulfed her. She cried harder when the flames singed her dress and had just closed her eyes, ready to follow her mother to Heaven when she was lifted up and carried from the inferno. Her last sight of the burning room was of the man laying dead on the floor. The man she had killed._

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, whispering old Russian prayers in an attempt to chase away the memories but they surfaced none the less.

_She danced across the stage, lithe and graceful. Her fellow ballerinas moved around her but her focus was on the man with ice blue eyes and biotic arm. His gaze, like the Siberian tundra, stayed fixed on her as she danced and she knew he tracked her every movement. Years training together, being partners, had taught them to watch each other in ways that no one, not even the highly trained agents, could notice. As she leapt into the air, she saw the subtle way his body tensed as though he was ready to catch her as she fell. He did not relax until her dainty shoes once again touched the stage. Her blue eyed soldier gave a microscopic smile and she returned it with uncharacteristic warmth in her eyes._

Natasha's eyes flew open as the face of that man, those icy eyes, filled her mind. She refused to think about him. It was bad enough she saw him every time she looked at Captain Rogers, she couldn't afford to think of him during her down time. She had to force her thoughts of her old partner to the darkest parts of her mind and slowly stood. Her meditation had been thrown off by her thoughts, by memories that would only serve to hinder her.

As she crossed the room to turn off the music the song changed, her meditation playlist ending and a more personal, private one started. The soft voice, familiar and very distinct, drifted through the air and had her freezing in place, hand hovering in midair as the old Russian lullaby played.

_Баю-баюшки-баю,  
Не ложися на краю,  
Прийдет серенькмй волчок  
И укусит за бочок_

Tears filled her eyes and a soft sound fell from her lips as her knees buckled and she sank to the floor. The lullaby continued and she listened to the voice, to his voice, her winter soldier's voice, and an old wound, something she'd long thought healed, tore wide until it was once again a gapping, bleeding wound.

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Author:** Okie dokie, so that's it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it enough that you'll still be here for the next chapter._

_Lullaby Translation:_

"_Sleep-sleep-sleep  
Don't lie close to the bed side  
Otherwise a grey wolf will come  
And bite you."_


	5. Thor

_**Author:** Well here's the next chapter guys. Enjoy._

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Thor**_

Thor stood on the balcony overlooking the green fields of Asgard and tried not to let his anger cloud his thoughts. He had been home for days now, returned from Midgard to celebrate his day of birth with his family and friends and yet being here brought back nothing but painful memories.

The Grand Hall where everyone still feasted had shadows that were haunted by ghosts of his beloved brother, who always seemed to fade into the background at such gatherings.

The libraries, which in the past he had spent hours sitting in just to have his brother's company, he now avoided as though a horrible plague was contained behind every shelf.

Even in the training fields, a place he had spent endless hours honing his skills, he could still see his brother practicing with his knives and magic even if he were completely alone.

He closed his eyes as his hand fell to his side, to the spot where just months ago his brother had stabbed him. It hadn't been a killing blow, merely one meant to cause as much pain as possible every time he moved during the battle against the monstrous army. Each breath he had drawn during those few short hours had been excruciating but he had been able to take even a moment to pause and tend his injury. Too many enemies and too few allies. After the battle, when the portal had at last been closed and his brother had been captured, Thor had breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. He was taking his brother home where he could be helped.

His relief had been short lived.

For once back on Asgard Loki had proven to be much more of a handful than any had anticipated. Two guards still dwelt within the healing rooms due to the dark magic his brother had poisoned them with. But regardless of his actions Thor still believed his brother could be saved. The guards Loki had poisoned could have been easily killed once they were unconscious. A dagger across their unprotected throats. But Loki had merely run. Slipping along the hidden pathways between worlds where even Heimdal's gaze could not find him.

Thor had returned to Midgard immediately to inform his friends there. They would keep a wary eye out for his brother but he knew that Loki would not be found until he wished it. Despite doing all he could to both help and contain his brother, Thor still felt as though he had failed Loki. He remembered his brother's words to him on that dark mountain.

_"I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness."_

Thor wondered then if that was how Loki had always felt. How had he not seen his beloved brother's pain? How had he not seen the agony he himself was causing by always assuming Loki was happy in his place behind the supposedly almighty Thor Odinson? It should have been obvious. That night on the mountain Thor had seen it. Had seen the hurt and the shame in Loki's eyes just as surely as he had seen the self hatred when Loki had mentioned his true heritage.

He knew his brother suffered, knew he was partially to blame, but how could he fix what was broken when his brother would not give him the chance? Would it always be this way between them? Loki running and Thor chasing, trying to make up for past errors he had only now come to realize had been made?

A single tear rolled down Thor's cheek. "Forgive me, brother," he whispered and his only wish was that Loki were there to hear his sincerity. "Forgive me."


	6. Clint

_**Author:** Here's chapter six guys, there will be only one more after this, a special chapter that was requested by a reader over on AO3. Alrighty, enough with the yammering, let's get on with the story._

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Clint**_

His arms were starting to cramp as he let yet another arrow fly. He'd lost count of how many that made. As he reached for the next one he swore he saw a swirl of black and green leather out of the corner of his eye. Snatching up the arrow, he nocked it to the bowstring as he spun, he didn't hesitate once he was facing the right direction to let the arrow fly. He watched it soar before imbedding in the far wall.

He blinked and realized that he was alone in the room.

A shaky breath left him and he felt his fingers tremble around the bow.

He'd fired at nothing.

At empty air.

He slowly closed his eyes and tried not to think about what any of SHIELDs evaluators would say if they saw that. Or what the psychiatrist he'd been ordered to see three times a week would say. He knew the end results of either would be the bench. He wouldn't be allowed on missions until his so called issues were resolved. Trust issues were what the psychiatrist said were the primary concern. He tended to treat new people like enemies. The perfect example of that was the fact that he still couldn't remember the first name of his new handler.

The woman with dark hair and sea-foam eyes.

Her appearance, even the way she would say certain things, reminded him too much of a certain alien god who had mind controlled him into attacking his colleagues. His friends. Some of whom still gave him a significant amount of space and calculating looks. As though they expected him to snap and attack them at the command of a being who wasn't even on Earth anymore. And because of all that he kept his handler, who he should be able to trust without hesitation, at arms length with harsh words and cold glares.

She was a good agent, he could acknowledge that even if he couldn't bring himself to fully trust her, but she wasn't Coulson.

Clint's heart lurched painfully in his chest when he thought of his former handler. He may not have held the blade that killed his former handler and friend, but he'd been the cause. Attacking the Helicarrier, just to free Loki, had enabled the god to get the drop on a man whom Clint had once believed to be too good for such a thing to happen. What hurt worse than the knowledge that he was responsible for Coulson's death was that Natasha had chosen to keep the man's death from him until after the battle in New York.

He knew she'd done it so his head would be in the game but he'd deserved to know the truth. He'd deserved to know the man he considered his closest friend, closer even than Natasha, was dead.

Forcing himself to stop thinking about Coulson, he drew a slow, deep breath Clint opened his eyes and glanced at the arrow protruding from the wall. He stared at it for a moment, remembering how it had felt to let his arrows fly when he'd been under Loki's control. The god hadn't lied about it being freer. He hadn't second guessed himself. Hadn't doubted. He had looked at his target and done the job. He'd done it better while in Loki's charge than he ever had for SHIELD. A small shiver ran through him as he recalled something Loki had said to him.

_"Tell me, Barton, do you believe a captive hawk, once it has fully tasted true freedom, will ever be content in a cage again?"_

Clint hadn't known then how to answer the god.

He knew now.

And it wasn't as though he hated his life now, even if some days were harder than ever, but he knew what it was like to not question ever little decision. He had known freedom in it's truest sense. And a small part of him, a part he would adamantly deny existed, yearned for that. It wanted to be free of the cage he called his life.

When that part started to rear its head once again, Clint squashed it viscously, telling himself that things would get better. He would get better.

A cold bark of laughter left him at that thought and he turned quickly to face the targets set up down range, nocking another arrow to his bowstring. Nothing would ever be alright again. He couldn't fix what he'd broken. Couldn't even apologize to the one man who'd looked at him like he was worth more than his ability to kill. Nothing would take away the guilt and self-hatred.

His hands were shaking when he let his arrow fly.

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Author:** And that's it for Clint. Only one chapter left now._


	7. Comfort

_**Author:** Last chapter guys. This one is broken up into six parts and gives each Avenger a bit of comfort (because I've become a sap for somewhat happy endings) though I have to say Bruce was extremely difficult to write but we managed to work out a nice little scene. Alrighty, enough yammering, on with the final chapter! Tally-ho!_

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Tony**_

He was sitting in his lab, half drunk, when the door whooshed open.

Half turning, ready to tell Pepper to get the hell out and just leave him alone for the day, he nearly fell off the stool when he realized it wasn't Pepper but one of Stark Industries new interns, a kid named Peter Parker. "What," he snapped once he got over the initial shock of JARVIS having let someone whom Tony hadn't authorized into the lab.

He expected Parker to jump or at least look frightened. Ninety percent of interns feared him and his old reputation as an asshole. But Parker just gave him a look that clearly said he was unimpressed. "Miss Potts asked me to check on you," he said calmly, meeting Tony's glare head on.

"Why?"

Parker's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Why did she ask me specifically or why didn't she come herself?"

Tony wouldn't say it aloud but the kid at least had half a brain cell more than the average kid to at least ask an intelligent question. "How about both."

Parker gave a small shrug, his shoulders barely lifting but Tony, even in his drunken state, saw it. "She had three meetings this afternoon and she had to catch 8PM flight to London for more meetings tomorrow. As for why she asked me specifically your guess would be as good as mine."

Tony frowned. Was it already past eight in the evening? A quick glance at the nearest monitor said it was. Well after. It was pushing eleven-thirty. "You picked an awful hour to drop by."

"It's called work, sir, it does keep me a bit busy."

Tony couldn't help but grin at the kid's snark. It wasn't often he met someone like Parker. Someone who clearly had a mind of their own and wasn't about to fawn over him for being a genius or yell at him for being an asshole. Sometime during this little musing, he realized suddenly, Parker had walked over and picked up the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the workbench.

"1967," Parker commented as he carefully put the cap back on the bottle. "A fairly decent year. Not the best."

Tony snorted. "What do you know?"

Parker looked at him as he place the bottle back on the bench. "I know you haven't slept in at least four days," he said and when Tony started to demand how he knew that he cut the older man off. "I'm a college student, Stark, I know what a person who's operating on adrenaline and caffeine looks like. I also know you're trying, and failing, to hide a lot of pain."

Tony frowned and gave him a cold glare. "You don't know shit, kid."

"I know that look in your eyes that you get when you think no one's looking at you. That hurt anger. Not a lot of people know what it feels like to be that sort of angry, deep in your bones. You have learn to hide the anger, practice smiling in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask. Or in your case a metal suit."

Tony was on his feet then and he had honestly expected Parker to step back when he got in the kid's space but he just stood there. "You think you know anything about me?! You, and the rest of the plebeian population, don't know shit about me! And what would you know about pain, huh?! What, you're girlfriend dump you for being a science nerd or something?!"

Parker's eyes flashed then, angry and something else welling up in them and Tony expected him to shout back but Parker spoke rather calmly. "My parents abandoned me when I was little and I watched my girlfriend's father die. I'm the reason a man went bat shit insane and tried to turn people into lizard-human hybrids all because I gave him a formula that my father worked on before he up and disappeared.

So, Stark, I know about pain and anger. I know what it's like to hurt so bad that you feel like your insides are slowly shrivelling up and dying. I know what it's like to be so angry you'd give anything just to beat the ever loving shit out of what made you angry. But I've learned to hide it. I've figured out people eventually get tired of the hurting, angry kid. I wear a mask so that the people I care about won't worry that I'm about to self destruct. So you tell me, Stark, what's your excuse?"

Tony blinked a few times. "You really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

"Fine," Tony huffed as he sat back down on his stool, not sure why he was even doing this. "It's not a pretty story."

"Real ones rarely are."

Tony drew a deep breath and slowly began to tell Parker, who'd sat on one of the labs many other stools, about his abduction and the death of the one man who'd inspired a change in the so called great Tony Stark. And when he stammered, tears falling down his face and throat clogging with emotion, Parker didn't laugh. Didn't judge him. The kid just reached over and squeezed his arm. Silently offering support and acceptance. It reminded him so much of Yinsen, of that quiet assurance the man gave him, that Tony ended up crying into Parker's shoulder.

And Parker never cringed. Never tried to push him away. He just hugged Tony and told him it was okay, to let it out at least once. And though Tony would probably never tell a soul, it felt amazing to finally open up and let go of the pain and guilt and grief.

_**Steve**_

Steve stared out over the city from the balcony of Stark Tower and tried not to feel anything. He'd visited Peggy's grave that morning and now his emotions were going haywire. His anger and grief were practically swallowing him whole. Part of him just wanted to hit something until there was nothing left but dust. He wanted to inflict as much pain and hurt as he was feeling.

His hands clenched tightly, fingers curling into his palm and his knuckles turned white from the force of it.

His eyes closed as he tried to regain control. He hadn't felt this out of control since the day he'd lost Bucky.

The thought of his best friend, a man he'd so obviously failed, shot another spike of anger and guilt through him.

Without realizing what he was doing his fist slammed into the coffee table, cracking it down the middle. The sound of the wood and metal snapping apart caused his eyes to open and again and he stared at the broken table. A bit of the anger faded, just enough to feel bad over breaking the table, and he slowly stood, thinking to clear away the pieces only to stop when Darcy Lewis, the assistant to SHIELD's Doctor Jane Foster walked into the room.

"Oh," she paused and stared at the table for a moment before looking at him. "Bad day?"

"I..." he felt his cheeks start to redden and he looked from her to the table and back to her. "I didn't mean...it just..."

Darcy smiled kindly as she crossed the room. "Personally I think it's for the best," she said as JARVIS alerted them that he'd contacted someone from maintenance to remove the broken table. "Nothing against Pepper but that table really clashed with the rest of the furniture. Even Tony said so. And you know how picky Tony is about his stuff."

Despite the anger still boiling in his gut Steve found himself smiling. Something about Darcy, her mannerisms and sense of humour reminded him of Peggy and Bucky rolled into one. And surprisingly that thought didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. "So," he said calmly, his blush finally fading. "You're here visiting Thor?"

"Jane's visiting, and I sort of tagged along. But as fond as I am of both of them I can't take watching them make goo-goo eyes anymore." She gave a small shrug. "So I figured I'd go get some ice cream."

"There's ice cream in the kitchen."

"I know and I was heading there but then I...well...I heard the table break and well..." She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as though uncertain of herself. "I hope you don't mind me saying this but the last few times I've seen you you've looked really sad when you think no one was looking and I...well...I know what that means...and I just...I want to make you happy even if it was for a few minutes so would you like to go get ice cream with me? I know this great little place three blocks away."

Steve couldn't help but smile. He recognized the rambling nervousness Darcy demonstrated. He'd done that a lot. There were days when he still did. But somehow Darcy doing it was kind of nice. It reminded him not all women were as strong and sure as Peggy or even Natasha.

"I'd like that, Darcy."

Darcy smiled a million watt smile, the kind that pretty dames back in the day had never graced him with and she held out her hand. "Well then, Captain, let's get going."

A small, somewhat hesitant smile graced his face as he took her hand, dwarfing it with his own. It didn't fix the hurt, he doubted anything would ever take it away completely, but it certainly helped to sooth it. As they left the tower together Steve felt some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. He knew time would help ease the pain. He glanced down at Darcy, at her brightly smiling face, and his own smile grew. Time and a good friend.

_**Bruce**_

He was sitting cross legged on the couch trying to let go of the day's tension only to have it settle right between his shoulders. Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to break up the slowly forming knot but nothing seemed to work. Wincing when his muscles pulled uncomfortably he reached up, curling his arm to try and rub the spot but to no avail. With a sigh he let his arms rest along the back of the couch.

He had just started to close his eyes when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He turned his head and watched as Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, came walking into the room, though she looked as casual as he could ever remember seeing her. She spotted him and a warm smile graced her face. "Hello, Bruce," she said as she walked closer.

"Miss Potts."

"Bruce you can call me Pepper you know," she said with a soft chuckle, sitting almost delicately in the chair just a few feet from the couch. "In fact I think it may be in the roommates guidebook that you are allowed to address those you live with by their first name."

"Sorry," he said with a sheepish smile. "Not used to having actual roommates. I'm...I'm not used to spending this one time in a city to be honest."

"Tony mentioned you moved around a lot." Pepper drew her legs up under her and Bruce gave a nod as though confirming what she knew. "Was that because of...umm..."

"The Other Guy?" Pepper gave him a look that said she clearly didn't want to pry and Bruce chuckled softly. "Yeah. It's...difficult living somewhere when you're a giant, green, rage monster."

"Oh Bruce," Pepper said quickly reached over and touching his knee. "You're not a monster. You just have a...a very unique condition."

Her words reminded him of the old janitor he'd met right before the battle in New York months prior. Of what the man had said when Bruce denied being an alien. Son, you got a condition. It made a small smile grace his face. He wasn't used to people being so calm about the Other Guy. Granted Pepper had known when he'd moved into the Tower but she was still so accepting. Had to come from working and living with Tony Stark.

"I'm not so sure," he said when the old memories, the ones of Betty and Blonski, entered his mind. Forcing away any thought of the few people who hadn't freaked out upon learning the truth about him. "I certainly feel like one. I mean, what sort of man can't risk getting angry or even having an elevated heart rate?"

"Lots of me," Pepper said confidently. "There are men the world over who have heart conditions or anger management issues. In your case you..."

"Turn into a monster and destroy half a city."

Pepper's smile disappeared and she stood up, crossing over to kneel on the couch next to him, her hands coming up to frame his face. "You listen to me, Bruce Banner," she said firmly, the tone one she often had to use on Tony. "You are not a monster. You aren't. Since joining the Avengers you've gained more and more control. You've saved millions of lives. Does that sound like the actions of a monster?"

"No, but..."

"Exactly," Pepper continued, not letting him say whatever negative comment had been about to be uttered. "You are a good man. A brilliant, kind man who has risked his very life to save people who call you the very thing you aren't. You risk everything to help and protect people. Just because you turn giant and green does not mean you are a monster. Do you think Thor's a monster just because he can fly and summon lightning on command?"

Bruce shook his head.

"How about Steve and his inhuman strength? Does the serum that made him Captain America also make him a monster?"

He shook his head again.

"What about Tony? The arc reactor, a machine that many argue shouldn't exist because it defies the natural order of the world, keeps him alive when he should have died years ago from the shrapnel trying to pierce his heart. Is he a monster for using technology to lengthen his life?"

Another silent negative.

"And neither are you." Pepper smiled at him. "You're special, Bruce. You have abilities that enable you to do great things. You are not a monster. You're not. Do you hear me?"

Bruce nodded and for the first time in a long time he thought that maybe he wasn't a monster. That maybe Pepper was right. He might not be completely human any more but maybe that didn't automatically make him a monster. Just different. He hugged Pepper then, causing her to giggle, and he smiled as she hugged him back.

"Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "Thank you."

_**Natasha**_

She was sitting in the chair next to his bed when he woke. "Natasha..." His voice was hoarse and dry from lack of use. He knew of all of them she would be the one to be here now. She shushed him by doing the unexpected. She took his hand in both of hers and for a moment he was confused. But when she finally looked at his face, her eyes shimmering with emotion rarely saw in her.

"I...I'm compromised..." she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. "I'm...I'm good at my job because...because I don't...feel...but lately I...I..."

Now it was his turn to shush her. "You're human, Natasha," he said as he brushed his thumb over one of her palms. "And after...after everything that's happened it's natural you should feel emotionally unstable."

She looked at him, studying his face, without blinking and they stayed like that for a while, just looking at one another.

"I..." She hesitated for a moment, worry flashing in her eyes for the briefest moment before she managed to mask her features. "I hate looking at Captain Rogers."

His head tipped sideways slightly and he breathed slowly, evenly. He'd thought this might happen. Given what the records had revealed when SHIELD had finally cleared her as an agent. "Because of the _зимой солдата_." He hadn't voiced it as a question but she still nodded. "Natasha, the past is called the past for a reason."

"But Captain Roger's he deserves to know..."

"That's not your call, Natasha." His voice was firm despite the slight rasp of sleep that still lingered.

Natasha frowned and for a moment he thought she would argue but she slowly nodded. "I still don't...I can't face Rogers half of...half of the time...I always feel like...I'm going to start bawling and that...that's unacceptable and..."

"Natasha," he said her name gently, causing her to stop, and he withdrew his hand from hers to reach up and wipe away the tears she didn't seem to realize she'd shed. "I can't tell you how to shut that feeling off. I'm not trained that way. But I do know talking helps. Even if you just talk to a stuff animal or a plant. Letting it out will help."

She stared at him for a few minutes, silent as a tomb, and when she spoke her words were the last he'd ever expected to hear from the former Russian spy.

"Can I talk to you, Phil?"

A small smile spread across his face. "Of course."

She nodded and though she didn't speak she did lean down so her head rested lightly against his shoulder. It was step forward in his opinion.

_**Thor**_

Thor stood atop the tower and stared out over the city, attempting to push his pain and anger into a corner of his mind. He'd returned to Midgard a few days earlier and had thought it would help sooth his ever swirling emotions and yet it seemed only to whip them into a frenzy. A hurricane raging inside him. It caused him to grip the railing tightly enough that the metal bent and creaked in protest.

"Thor?"

His head turned and he quickly released the railing when he saw Jane watching him. "Jane, I..."

"Is everything okay?" She walked over and stood beside him, her eyes shining with her concern as she took his hand.

"I...I worry about my brother and...and how he is and...and...how the others may see my concern for him as weakness or...or a threat...or..."

"Thor." Jane gave his hand a squeeze. "He's your brother, and everyone knows that. They know you love him despite his faults and I doubt they will fault you for that."

"The Widow has said..."

"Romanoff is hardly the right person to be casting stones in this situation, Thor." Jane shook her head. "The woman has killed too. She's probably got a bigger body count than any other Avenger."

Thor frowned. "Is that meant to make me feel better?"

Jane's cheeks turned pink. "Well...no...but I...what I meant was..."

"You meant that she, like Loki, has her darkness."

Jane nodded and a small smile graced her face. "And like her Loki's not just the bad things he's done. I mean...he's not all bad. There must be some part of him that is the man you remember. The man who is and always will be your brother."

Thor studied Jane's face, the honesty in her eyes, and quickly pulled her into a hug. "You are a wise woman, Jane Foster." He rested his cheek against her hair. "And very compassionate to offer a kind word for the sake of my brother."

Jane's arms wrapped around him and he felt her smile into his chest. "He's your brother," she said as she hugged him tighter. "And you love him. You believe in him. That's good enough for me."

A small smile graced Thor's face, the first genuine one he'd had in what felt like ages. He kissed the top of Jane's head and held her closer even as he looked out over the city that only months ago had been under siege by his brother. While his emotions were far from completely calm he felt a bit better knowing that someone, someone as intelligent and caring as Jane, held out the same hope he did for his brother.

_**Clint**_

It was raining when Clint stepped out onto the roof of the Tower. Not a light rain either but a heavy downpour that had him soaked within minutes of a stepping outside.

He stood there, in the dark cloak of night, staring at the city lights and letting the chill of the rain set in. His hands were shaking but not from the cold. Ever since the other day in the range he couldn't seem to stop shaking. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to control the shakes like he did when he had his sessions with the psychiatrist, but it didn't work. If anything it made him shake even worse.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was going to be his life now. A life that wouldn't be worth anything if Director Fury decided his issues made him a liability. His hands shook so bad he couldn't hold the bow properly. If he couldn't use the bow he was worthless as a field agent and he'd be damned if he worked a desk for the rest of his life.

He slowly opened his eyes, head tipping back so he could glare at the impossibly black sky and shouted as loud as he possibly could. "Goddamn you, Loki!"

His knees buckled and his head bowed, the rain hiding his tears as he clenched his hands against his thighs, trying to find some small amount of peace in the whirlwind that was now his life. He closed his eyes as a sob tore free of his chest, carried away by a sudden gust of cold wind. He started when a hand suddenly combed through his hair, eyes opening as his head snapped up, eyes locking on an impossible figure.

"This was not what I wanted for you." Loki's voice was raw and pained and for a moment Clint thought he was merely hallucinating, it wouldn't be the first time but then he noticed the man's appearance. Ragged was the word that came to mind. Dressed only in a pair of black pants the Asgardian had to be freezing but showed no outward sign of discomfort. Only distress.

"You wanted me enslaved," Clint hissed, confused as to why he wasn't pulling away. "Just like the rest of humanity."

"I wanted many things but the enslavement of mankind was not my wish."

Clint noticed something then. "Why are your eyes green?"

"Because I am no longer influenced by the sceptre. You may Thor if you do not believe me."

Clint blinked, watching as Loki slowly sank to his knees so they were mostly at eye level, though the Asgardian still had a few inches on him. "When I took you it was because I was drawn to you. The sceptre's true master exploited what I felt."

"What you felt..."

"I want to undo the harm I have caused you," Loki continued as though Clint had not spoken. "But I...I do not know how. I do not know how to fix what I so carelessly broke. I am truly sorry."

Clint blinked almost owlishly. "You...what..."

"I'm sorry, Clint Barton. For all that I have done to you."

He saw the truth in Loki's eyes and heard the honesty in the Asgardian's voice and something, some small place in Clint that had been frozen, shattered. A ragged sob fell from his lips and he pressed forward, face pressed into Loki's shoulder, arms wrapping around the thin framed man. He cried in a way he hadn't since childhood, and Loki just held him whispering apology after apology in his ear, a hand gently rubbing up and down Clint's back.

He shouldn't have felt better. He should have still wanted to kill Loki for what he'd done. But kneeling there, in the icy rain, being offered comfort from the same being that had inflicted the pain, was some kind of buffer. It didn't fully take away his pain or anger, he doubted anything but time could do that, but having this all powerful being apologize, on his knees no less, soothed him in a way that he couldn't describe.

He couldn't verbally acknowledge any sort of acceptance of Loki's words, or offer some form of forgiveness, he just wasn't ready to do either, Clint just clung to Loki, allowing the man to hold and comfort.

And as the rain slowly became a gently drizzle, Clint felt like he'd finally taken a small step in the right direction.

_**oOoOoOo**_

_**Author's Note:** And that's it guys. I hope you enjoyed this fic. _

Translation: зимой солдата_ - Winter Soldier_


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